


Sometimes Goodbye Is A Second Chance

by xTheLittleOne



Category: Homestuck
Genre: More tags later, i have no idea what this is going to be about, writing for the sake of writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTheLittleOne/pseuds/xTheLittleOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're not sure how you feel about this life, if you like it better now than when you were dead, or the life you lived before. You grew up doing the dirty work of another, died doing the dirty work of a mere <i>concept</i>, and now you scrape by day-to-day life doing the dirty work of yourself.</p><p>Your name is Eridan Ampora, and you've been given a second chance to live. What do you do with it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Goodbye Is A Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> So I roleplay Eridan on a multiverse forum and I took him from after he died in the alpha timeline. He's about sixteen in my story, and the universe this one takes place in is the "slice of life" one, where it's just a mixed society of somewhat normal people. He's still a troll, and there are very few trolls. The only other troll he's met here is Kanaya of all people.
> 
> I don't actually have a direction I'm taking this, I'm just writing for the sake of writing.

If you were warmblooded, perhaps, mist would rise from your lips on this cool of a night. But you're not, you're as vibrant a violet as they come, and saltwater clings stubbornly to your shirtless form as you haul yourself out of the water and onto the dock. Under the foreign moon and stars, the chill doesn't so much as bite you. In fact, the breeze feels lukewarm. Over your shoulder is a rope net, and within is fish. You've taken down sky whales before. Simple fish for dinner is nothing, even if you hate being in the water. You swim faster than the fish do. You see better than they do, too. Under the water, anyway.

Slicking your hair back out of your face, black-rimmed glasses are pulled from your sylladex, focusing your eyes for the world above water. You pad silently up the length of the dock before stopping at a boat in particular, looking over it. Old, not in good condition, but more than ready to stay afloat than that old vessel you'd grown up in. The humans thought you laughable for wanting it. _You_ thought it laughable that you needed to pay for basic troll needs. Whatever money you had was long gone, in a beached ship on a dead planet.

The facilities of the old yacht were decent at least. Below deck, you toss the fish into the sink where they thud and flop around in their netted confine. You yourself head straight for the shower. You don't really _need_ light beyond the moon filtering in, but you light up an old oil lamp anyway. This thing didn't have proper electricity. It didn't have heated water, either, but that had never been a problem for a cold-blooded prince.


End file.
